


Before the Dawn pt. 1

by BloodMagic



Series: Dragon Age: Fluff [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Post-Canon, Solavellan mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodMagic/pseuds/BloodMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Far too late as far as canon is concerned, Commander Cullen and Inquisitor Lavellan wise up and discover that real love isn't as far away as they once thought.<br/>Introducing to the fanfic stage: my favorite personal Inquisitor, Miss Narvi Lavellan.<br/>4/5/2015: This work has been edited and updated. No content has been cut, but some has been expanded upon or re-worded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Dawn pt. 1

There was something surreal about walking around in the training yards in the morning. Before the recruits lined up for their exercises, when the earth was cold and dewy and coated with a fine mist, and all the world was blessed silence... it was Narvi Lavellan's favorite time and place. It was dark and empty and quiet and cold. If she was feeling dramatic, it was like a reflection of her own state in the wake of Solas's leaving.

She had shed her tears for Solas, exactly three of them. One, when he told her, with hasty apologies and uncharacteristic panic, that he would never again distract her from her duties; one when she saw him kneeling before that broken orb he had tried to recover from Corypheus; and one several months later, when she finally told Leliana to call off the search for good.

It had been about a year since then, Narvi reflected as she looked up at the last of the retreating stars. She had no more tears left for Solas, and no wish to see him again. She wanted no explanations from him, no apologies, and she had even moved past wanting any kind of revenge. He was gone and that was that. Another star winked out in the heavens. Dawn was coming on fast.

Yes, dawn had a habit of doing that, Narvi thought. No matter where her thoughts lingered, dawn would shine itself bright upon the fields all too soon, would chase away the cold and the dew. Then the training yard would be filled with clumsy, sweating new recruits at their drills and exercises, all under the quietly watchful and oft exasperated eye of—

“Maker's breath! Inquisitor!” his voice interrupted her thoughts. Narvi's head snapped down, away from the stars, to where Cullen stood beside a pair of recently installed archery targets. He could not have been more than twenty feet away.

How had she managed to come this far without noticing him at all?

“Commander? What are you doing out here so early?” And how did you manage to stay silent even though you're in full armor? she wanted to ask. He must have been holding perfectly still in the darkness. Cullen was good at stillness, comfortable in silence. Even in the full heat of battle he maintained an economy of motion and sound that had always struck Narvi as graceful in its own fashion.

He pointed with his thumb back at the archery targets. “I thought I should get these set up early for the recruits,” he explained with hasty nervousness. “I guess I... I got distracted.”

Narvi raised one quizzical eyebrow. “I didn't think you were the type to wander off daydreaming,” she chided.

On reflex, Cullen raised one hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Normally I'm not.”

“Is something wrong then?”

Immediately, his hand fell and he looked bewildered, like a wild animal that just realized it had been caught up to. He was much less graceful in conversation than in battle.

“N-no, not at all,” he muttered and threw his gaze toward the ground. He was a terrible liar. Narvi decided against pursuing the topic though; maybe he wanted or needed to talk to _someone_ , but that didn't mean that someone was _her_. When she wasn't his boss she was still one of those wild Dalish witches. That didn't leave a lot of room for her to have much in common with the former templar. Just because people still called her the “Herald of Andraste” didn't mean she had anything in common with the true faithful of the Maker.

Still, leaving him completely alone with his troubled thoughts seemed like a bad idea, so she improvised. “Do you want help setting the rest of these up?” she offered with a gesture at the archery targets.

He blushed. The Inquisitor's time was a precious commodity; even ranking as high as he did within the Inquisition hierarchy, surely he could not afford to monopolize it.“I'm certain you have more important things to do with your time,” he protested.

“Cullen, it's four in the morning,” Narvi reminded him. “What could the Inquisition possibly need from me at four in the morning?”

Cullen could think of no logical reason not to accept her help, and as there were about twenty of such targets that needed to be set up, he actually would welcome the assistance if she was offering. Even if she hadn't offered to help directly, just her being nearby with her easy conversation and generous smiles would make the work seem less tedious. “They're heavy,” he warned as he started walking back toward the storage room that held the rest of them.

“I'll manage,” she promised with a smirk. “I've pulled _you_ out of the fire before, and these can't possibly weigh more than you.” Sure enough, she was more than equal to the task of lifting the things. They were not so much heavy for her as they were cumbersome, difficult for her to wrap her shorter arms and smaller hands around. But she didn't complain. She had offered her help and by the Creators, she would be helpful, not a hindrance. Cullen stopped for a moment and just stared at her. She had always been strong for a mage; maybe it was the result of her harsh lifestyle wandering around the Free Marches. Still, it was only half true that she had 'pulled him out of the fire'. He had been conscious and mobile at the time, and Narvi herself hadn't had to shoulder more than two thirds of his weight at once. He very much doubted that her small frame would support his full dead weight. Not that he intended to test his theory. The very image of it was absurd. Cullen shook the idea from his head and went back to work.

The sun had risen over the ramparts of Skyhold by the time they had all the targets set up and aligned. A band of dusty peach still lingered in the sky across from the sun, but all the stars were gone, replaced with one bright, fiery orb. Its warmth felt like a shock on the faces of the busy Inquisitor and Commander in the courtyard, who had gotten used to the pre-dawn chill.

“That's the last of them,” Narvi said triumphantly, brushing her hands against each other as she did. She tried to hide the fact that she was panting a little. Maybe the targets _were_ heavier than she wanted to admit. She need not have bothered pretending she wasn't tired; anyone could have seen the pink flush in her brown cheeks or the light sheen of sweat along her brow.

“So it is,” Cullen agreed beside her. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Narvi,” she corrected.

“What?”

She turned away from the targets and looked up at him. Creators, but he was too tall for how close he was standing. The poor elf was likely to strain her neck. He was close enough that she could smell the fur in his collar; it tingled against her soft palate in the way only fur did, not unpleasant but it made it harder for her to focus. “It's not like I'm sitting in judgment or collecting reports in the War Room. You don't have to call me 'Inquisitor.'”

He looked away and his hand went back to rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh. Sorry. Er, I didn't know that bothered you.”

“'Bother?' No I wouldn't say it _bothers_ me, I just...” Narvi backtracked. She blushed and looked down, away. “I mean there's no need to be formal when it's like this, is all.”

Cullen's nervous tic of rubbing his neck was starting to leave the skin there red with irritation. He lowered his hand and forced a cough through the awkward silence. “Well, um, oh, about those War Room reports. I'm still waiting on one of Leliana's runners. The report won't be ready in time for the meeting this morning, but I should have it to you later today.”

Grateful for the distraction, Narvi threw herself back into Inquisitor mode. “Right. That's fine. Just bring it to my office later then.”

“You have an office?” he asked. Narvi's eyes widened and then swiftly narrowed as she tried to make sense of his question.

“What—? Of course I have an office. You know that door to the left of the throne?”

“I thought that was your bedchamber?” Cullen's face had turned a shade of red almost as deep as his surcoat.

“If you want to get _technical_ , I mean the room has a bed _in_ it, but it's my office! I just also happen to sleep there.” She was speaking over-quickly and her hands had begun to gesticulate to a degree that was borderline theatrical. That was not a common state for her; it always signified that she was becoming flustered or nervous. Cullen looked down at her and smiled one of his signature half-smiles and that only made it worse. “Don't look at me like that. _You_ did the exact same thing with your office. You have a ladder between the two; that doesn't actually put them in separate rooms you know.”

“It might as well, the way the floor keeps them visually divided.” His tone was teasing. Narvi was beginning to half-regret telling him that it was okay to be informal with her.

Still, if they were going to have at it, she wasn't without her own ammunition. “Forgive me if I don't take remodeling advice from a man who  _still_ hasn't fixed the hole in his ceiling.”

“It's a skylight!” Cullen protested. He sounded more indignant than he actually felt.

“It's going to get you sick and then who will command my army?” Narvi retorted. They began walking back across the courtyard toward the main bailey.

Cullen had no answer. If she had asked that question  _before_ that fateful final battle with Corypheus, he would have said Cassandra. Without hesitation: Cassandra. She was the only person with the combined discipline, willpower, military experience, and passion to run an army. He had often wondered if she wasn't more qualified for the job than he ever was. No wonder the Chantry had chosen her for their new Divine.

As it stood now he had no answer. Now that Cassandra lived in Val Royeaux, there was no one left in Skyhold to whom he would willingly entrust the army.  _His_ army, he thought, with a pride that he suspected was not unlike that of a father looking on his children. 

No, that wasn't right, was it? He glanced at Narvi as they walked. The Inquisitor. It was really  _her_ army, wasn't it? They weren't laying down their lives for Cullen and  _his_ cause. Everything they all did they did for their Herald of Andraste.

That half-smile crept back up his face. It had been a year or so since defeating Corypheus, and nearly two since the Breach first opened in the sky, and even without asking he knew that Narvi still hated being called the Herald of Andraste. Being Dalish, she never did feel comfortable with any aspect of the Chantry. Not the Maker, not Andraste, not the templars. Despite her polite enough demeanor at the War Table, he wasn't sure she liked him personally for at least the first month of their acquaintance. Some of the things he'd heard her say were downright heretical. A younger, more foolish Cullen would have been offended to the core, but the wiser version of him that had come to the Inquisition could never bring himself to hold it against her. He remained as faithful as ever to the Maker, but he had seen enough abuse in the Chantry and in the templar order that he didn't blame her for wanting to keep her distance. It amazed him that she stayed with the Inquisition at all, that she hadn't bolted from Haven the moment Cassandra removed her shackles.

But she  _had_ stayed. Even though everyone and everything in Haven made her uncomfortable, even though the remaining Chantry clerics lobbied to have her tried for the murder of Divine Justinia. Even though she was visibly miserable at first, convinced that everyone hated her, except perhaps for Solas, Leliana and Varric.

But Varric had gone back to Kirkwall, at least for now. And Solas was gone to Maker-knows-where, likely never to return. Cassandra had removed to Val Royeaux and Vivienne had returned to Montsimmard. Dorian had gone back to Minrathous, and though he wrote often, it was not the same.

Slowly but surely Narvi's friends were trickling away from the Inquisition, back to their own lives and their own interests. Cullen had no doubt that they would return if she really needed them, but that they weren't around regularly had clearly taken its toll on her.

Perhaps that was why she was spending more time with himself and Josephine lately. He and Josephine, for better or worse, were cornerstones of the Inquisition. Together with Leliana, they were people who Narvi firmly believed would never leave her as long as the Inquisition continued its work.

Well, she wasn't wrong. Perhaps a day would come when Leliana would follow Cassandra and serve as Left Hand again. Perhaps Josephine would go back to Antiva _eventually_. But for now, they were here for the Inquisition, for Narvi in particular. They adored her too much to leave her, and they valued the Inquisition too much to leave it. And Cullen himself? If he wanted to leave, there were any number of places he could go. Fereldan would commission him as an officer in their army if he wanted. Orlais would contract him to train chevaliers. Nevarra would offer him a position in a heartbeat if he so much as dropped a hint to them. But that all hinged on 'wanting to leave', which he did not. He still believed too fiercely in the Inquisition's purpose to think his work with them done. He still held Narvi in such high personal regard that the thought of leaving her side brought a physical ache to his chest. All that they had accomplished, all the triumphs they shared together: those were worth far more than any salary the king of Nevarra could offer him.

“What is it?” she asked suddenly. Cullen realized he had been staring. He looked away and cleared his throat.

“N-nothing. Sorry. I was just thinking about how the Inquisition has changed since we started.” That wasn't the entire truth, but at least it was not a lie. Narvi nodded, satisfied with that answer.

“There are times when I hardly recognize it, myself,” she agreed quietly. She sounded so sad then. “Hey, Cullen? Can I ask—do you ever feel like...? Everything we've done _since_ Corypheus, like it's just a holding pattern?”

He stopped walking. She kept on a step or two before realizing that she had pulled ahead and turned back to fix her sharp verdigris eyes on him.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked before he could stop himself. Narvi's shoulders slumped. She looked helpless then, in a way he had seen only a few times from her before.

“I don't know,” she admitted, her voice low, even shaky. “It's just that... You know in the beginning that was all we were really trying to do: seal the Breach, stop Corypheus. And we did that. But what are we doing _now_?”

“We're rebuilding,” Cullen answered immediately. The surety in his voice made her head snap to attention. As if she were a new recruit, hearing one of his rallying speeches for the very first time. “The war divided everyone against each other. Corypheus and his armies left a lot of chaos in his wake. We're trying to restore order.”

“That's what Josephine would say,” Narvi protested. “You command our armies. You read almost all of Leliana's reports. What are we really _doing?”_

“Inquisitor.” He sighed. “The armies stand behind _you_. I would never dispatch them on any mission that I thought went against what you—what we _all_ stand for.”

“But that's the problem, isn't it? What we all stand for?” she pressed. “We used to have a mission. One goal: take down Corypheus. We had an enemy, and we had a _plan_. Now it feels like we're just sort of hanging around, doing a bunch of minor things to keep us relevant until some other enemy comes along and tries to blow up the world.”

Cullen had no words at first so he shrugged his shoulders and gave another sigh. “Maybe,” he conceded. “Maybe that's exactly what we're doing. But in the mean time there are houses and roads to rebuild, and darkspawn to rout, and rogue mages and templars to hunt down. We're still doing good work, even if it seems minor compared to what we did before. Never doubt that.”

Narvi nodded, then looked up and smiled. It was thin, but genuinely meant. “Sorry. I'm not usually this grim.”

He couldn't help but chuckle in response. “I know,” he told her when the chuckle died down. Then, more seriously, “So what changed?” She shook her head and cast her eyes down, at the anchor on her hand.

“Nothing changed. It's not rational, I just have doubts sometimes. I know, it's silly.”

“No. Inquisitor, it's not silly,” he tried to comfort her. One of his hands was raised like he wanted to reach out to her but didn't have the courage to see the action through. He pulled that hand away and rubbed his neck again. “I mean, that is, we all have doubts sometimes, right?”

Narvi blushed again, and was glad her face was turned down so he wouldn't see it. “You never do. Not about this.”

“I have faith in you- your Inquisition. _The_ Inquisition.” He cleared his throat. “These are good people we have here.”

The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little – just a little – and she looked up. “Well, they've got a good commander watching over them, anyway.”

“They've got a good _Inquisitor_ ,” he corrected, but he smiled gratefully at her recognition of him anyway. Even after all this time, his heart still fluttered when she praised him. He had learned the value of controlling his outward facial expressions but on the inside he grinned like a schoolboy.

A pair of birds flew out from Leliana's rookery. The Inquisition was waking up for the day. That meant it was time for Narvi to steel herself.

Once the sun was up and people began stirring she didn't get to be Narvi Lavellan, friendly neighborhood elven hedge mage. She had to be the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. She had to be an icon. From where Cullen was standing, the change in her was visible. Her jaw set into position and her eyebrows seemed to move to a default setting halfway between neutral and concerned. All of her unique personhood – the woman who expressed her doubts and sassed him about his ceiling – melted away in an instant. All that remained was what she immediately needed to lead.

Cullen would be lying if he said he didn't admire her determination and her stubborn devotion to her position as Inquisitor. He would also be lying if he said it wasn't a tragedy that she felt she could only be the Inquisitor if she sublimated everything else, if she stopped being herself.

“Good morning, Commander,” she said then, her voice stiff with the weight of her title. “I'll see you in the War Room later.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Then she turned on her heel and went back to her chambers. After the exertion of setting up the targets, Narvi was quite certain she smelled, and that was no way to greet the day.

 

It was mid-afternoon by the time she finally had a real break. She had been dealing with yet  _another_ stuffed-shirt Orlesian noble with some paltry imagined grievance and an accent too thick to articulate it, and she had no more energy for anything else. She was now sorely regretting having gotten up so early in the morning. Narvi trudged back to her chambers ready to collapse, too exhausted to even take off her boots.

The drained Inquisitor fell back on her bed and draped her forearm over her eyes. Creators, what she wouldn't give for a nap! But it was not to be. A knock sounded on her door. The sound of it was so upsetting after the long, horrible day she just had that she seriously considered locking herself in her closet and just crying it out. She pulled her arm off her face when the knock came a second time.

“Enter,” she commanded. She tried not to sound as upset as she felt, or like she was whining.

“In– Inquisitor?” It was Cullen's voice. Right. That report. The report she had told him to bring to her. The report that she desperately wanted to rip from his hands and burn because its very existence was interfering with what little time she had for herself. “A-are you alright?”

He had not expected to see her like that when he entered, splayed out on her sheets with arms spread eagle like she'd just taken a crossbow bolt to the chest. Narvi realized that her position was less than appropriate to the situation, so she pushed herself up until she was sitting. It took all her willpower, but she managed to grab at one of her bed posts for support and stand up. She walked over to her desk, tried not to look like doing so was a tedious chore, and beckoned Cullen over with a wave of her hand.

“Is that the report we talked about earlier?” she asked, eyeing the sheaf of papers in his hands as he approached. Cullen answered in the affirmative and handed it over. She skimmed over the executive summary page and then set it down. Basically, it said that their efforts in Wherever-It-Was were successful. “I'll have a proper look at it in a minute. Thank you.” Narvi squared her shoulders as she spoke, tried to look alert and in charge.

Cullen had not budged since handing her the papers. He was looking at her quizzically, with furrowed brows. However bad of a liar he was, _she_ fared little better. “You're not alright, are you?”

She waved his concern away with her hand. “I'm just tired, that's all,” came her dismissive answer, but her commander wasn't buying it.

“Narvi...” he spoke her name in a low, almost threatening voice, a voice that demanded to know the truth. His arms crossed over his chest.

She decided not to answer directly. “Why were you up and moving archery targets around at four in the morning?” she countered. Caught off guard, his steely gaze faltered from her own.

“The recruits needed archery practice. I couldn't sleep. It made sense.”

Narvi's arms crossed over her chest in deliberate mimicry of Cullen's own pose.

He relented first. “Maker preserve me,” he muttered. Then, “alright. You'll tell me if I tell you?”

“Deal.”

He started pacing. Not quickly, but he carried an attitude like it was easier to get whatever it was off his chest if he could physically move while doing it.

“You know I've been off lyrium for, Maker how long has it been? Since the Inquisition began. I don't suppose you know anything about the withdrawal process?” Narvi shook her head no. “Well, they are... extensive, and painful. I don't recommend them. The physical pain has faded now – most of the time, anyway – but there have been other effects, and they linger. Nothing that stops me from doing my job, but some obsessive thought patterns, and bad dreams.”

“Lyrium affects your dreams?” Narvi could not help but interrupt. He shook his head.

“Not _directly_ , but, Maker, how do I say this?” he cast his thoughts around like a net for the right words. “Listen, I've told you before, about what happened in Ferelden, in Kirkwall?”

“You told me some.”

“Well I _told_ you some, but I _remember_ it all,” he continued. “Lyrium... it calms one's thoughts, and it dulls the bad memories. So when I stopped taking it, you can imagine the memories all came back, clear as the day they first happened.”

Narvi's eyes widened but she said nothing. Cullen's next words came out strained. He had never talked about this at length with anyone; the words had become comfortable somewhere inside him and they fought viciously against his efforts to push them out.

“It doesn't seem to matter how long I stay off the stuff. The pain might go away but the dreams won't fade. As you might expect, I don't sleep very well.”

“No, I imagine not,” she answered. She sounded almost as choked-up as he felt.

“And that's what I was doing up at four in the morning,” he concluded, his tone lighter. “So now it's your turn.”

She nodded and paused to collect her thoughts. He waited patiently. Far be it from _him,_ of all people, to rush her.

“It's not a big thing like that,” she began slowly, quietly. “It's more like a bunch of little things. It's... I miss Varric, and Cassandra. And Iron Bull! Skyhold feels so much quieter without him and his Chargers around.”

“Forgive me if I'm being too bold, but is this also about Solas? I understand you were, er, particularly close to him.”

Narvi laughed bitterly in the direction of the floor. “'Were' is the key word there. But,” here she paused and a resigned sigh escaped her, “sometimes, yes I think I do miss him. We parted on less than ideal terms but damned if he didn't have the best stories.” She stopped herself from adding anything about him having the best kisses, too. Somehow, talking about  _those_ felt wrong on a level she couldn't quantify. Maybe she just didn't want to lend that part of their relationship any legitimacy. It was easier to pretend that it never happened.

“I guess that's it,” Narvi said suddenly. “It might seem silly to say it, but I think I'm just lonely. Lonely, and more than a little tired of having to be 'Inquisitor' all the time.” She sighed. “Varric was great for that. Reminding me that I'm not actually a prophet, or the center of the universe, or whatever else it is they call me in Val Royeaux.”

Cullen had an idea. Maybe it would work, maybe it would just annoy her, but it was better than letting her suffer without even  _trying_ to do anything. “Tired, huh?” he asked, his voice coy to a degree she had never heard before. Narvi narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “So tired you can't even pick up your dirty socks?”

“What's wrong with my socks?” she demanded. Cullen swept one arm out over the room.

“Well, for one, they are _everywhere_ ,” he chided. That much was true. Narvi never wore socks when she lived with the Dalish, and getting used to wearing them under boots had been something of an adjustment. Perhaps as a result, unlike every other piece of laundry in her wardrobe, she had a habit of leaving her socks wherever they fell, and not gathering them up again until wash day. Sometimes if they got in her way in the mean time she would pick one up and angrily throw it across the room, which explained why there was a sock hanging off the headboard of her bed.

“You're really going to get on my case about socks right now? I thought you were supposed to be supporting your Inquisitor here.” Oops, she sounded annoyed. He had one shot to salvage this.

“I don't know,” he said gravely. “After this scandalous debacle I wonder if I'll ever be able to see you as the Inquisitor ever again. I guess I have to start calling you Narvi by default now.”

It finally dawned on her what he was doing. Relief and amusement both flooded through her and she laughed. Giggled, really, like an exuberant little girl. “You're nowhere near as good as Varric at these kinds of games,” she teased in between laughing. “But thank you for trying.”

“I don't need to be good at playing games, as long as you remember that you're a person first and the Inquisitor second,” Cullen answered. His shoulders relaxed at the sight of her laughing. That fumbling attempt of his to cheer her up had succeeded, somehow. It was nice to see her smiling without restraint for once. Well then, he thought, he could stand to be a _little_ better at playing this particular game. He seemed to be one of the only ones left who was willing to play it with her at all, and Maker's breath did she ever need it. “Really though, these socks _are_ everywhere and you should think about picking them up.”

The last of her giggles died away and she snorted. “Tell you what: when you  _finally_ fix the hole in your roof—really  _fix_ it, not just tack a blanket over it or something—I will start picking up my dirty socks.”

He smirked at her with that smug half-smile of his. “Deal. Now come on.” Cullen started walking back toward the staircase that led to the exit from her chambers. When Narvi didn't follow, he turned around and waved her over with an air of decided, if exaggerated, impatience.

“What's this, then? Where are we going?” she asked. After her much-needed laughter therapy, she was just revitalized and curious enough not to be tired.

“A courier arrived just before you retired, with a package. From the Friends of Red Jenny.” His smirk had widened into a full smile.

“Sera?” Narvi confirmed. Sera had only stuck around for a little while after Corypheus was defeated, but she came back to visit every now and again, and she had taken to sending little packages to Skyhold about once a month. The contents of the package varied, but it usually contained colorful letters about what she was doing, usually accompanied by hand-drawn illustrations, along with little trinkets. Once she sent a stuffed doll shaped like Corypheus with a little miniature arrow stuck through his 'dangle-bag'. That doll now lived on a shelf in the War Room. Josephine seemed to like looking at it whenever she was feeling down or too stressed.

In any case, whenever Sera sent a package, it was always sure to be the highlight of the Inquisition's week. Grinning, Narvi hurried to catch up with Cullen and together they went downstairs to investigate.

 

And that was how and when Narvi Lavellan, friendly neighborhood elven hedge mage, and Cullen Rutherford, friendly neighborhood ex-templar, went from being polite colleagues who occasionally got drinks together after work to being what ought to be described as best friends. It had been too long since Narvi had someone like that in her daily life: someone who wasn't afraid of her, who didn't cow before her titles, who treated her like a person. Varric had been extraordinarily good for that, and it had been difficult to fill the void he left when he returned to Kirkwall. Cullen seemed only too happy to take up that discarded mantle.

Never mind 'seemed'; Cullen _was_ entirely happy to do it. He counted any excuse to be near her as a good excuse. If he had any misgivings at all about his new role in her life, it was that his long-suppressed crush on her, which he struggled to push out of his mind for months, had rekindled with a vengeance. Once again, just as in the old days he caught himself staring at her with abandon, daydreaming about her in his off-hours, smiling to himself when a memory of her laugh or the sunlight caught in her hair sprung unbidden to his mind. He dared not express any of this to her, but contented himself with the fact that she valued him and actively sought his presence whenever pressing Inquisition business did not force her to stay away or go out adventuring into the field.

The best part was that neither of them ever seemed to be able to sleep properly. Narvi had always been a light sleeper when it came to outside lights or noises, and both of them were prone to waking up in the middle of the night after bad dreams. A few times a week, one of them would awaken far earlier than was sensible, would look out their window and see a lit candle on the other's sill. That was their signal. _I'm awake,_ the candle said. _If you are too, then come talk to me._ And of course they would. How many games of chess had they played in the small hours of the morning while they idly chatted their anxieties away? How many times had they walked the walls of Skyhold in the darkness before the dawn, or explored the labyrinthine tunnels under the keep with nothing but a torch and a sense of mischief to guide their steps? How many letters had they proofread for each other? How many articles of clothing had they stitched up for one another after a misadventure either in the field or the training ring? Josephine was starting to wonder, vocally, why they were burning through candles faster than usual.

For two months or so this was their status quo, and for the most part each was content. Narvi appreciated the reliability of his candle. No matter what caused her to wake up, whether it was some terror of the night or just an owl hooting too loudly on her balcony, there was comfort to be had in seeing the candle on his sill. He was always there for her. It had been entirely too long since she last felt that much security with anyone. Cullen himself always found a strange sort of relief in looking out his window and seeing her candle lit. Yes, he loved it when she came knocking on his door, but there was also something both comforting and exciting to him about seeing the little point of light in her window, knowing that she was inviting _him_ to come to _her._ It wasn't just that she tolerated his being there; she missed him when he was gone, too. Never in his adult life had he felt truly _wanted_ , and finally knowing that that felt like was a refreshing change of pace.

One morning, Narvi found herself on the receiving end of a nightmare that rattled her as few had before. It was all the usual fare: spiders and darkspawn, broken glass and flames that might have been rage demons, or perhaps just ugly flames. The terror of the dream was less a matter of its content and more the vividness with which it appeared to her, the closeness of it all and the way even after waking up she thought she could still smell the smoke and the blood.

She stood up, out of bed, and was grateful for the chilly night air that dried her sweat. For lack of anything better to do, she started pacing. The embers in her fireplace had burned low. Dare she try to stoke them back into a proper fire? The indecision agitated her and made her pace faster.

Her feet and her breath both stopped when she passed in front of her window and saw the candle. Narvi looked at the clock on her wall. Barely three in the morning? That wasn't even 'waking up early' levels of early; that was more akin to 'staying up late'. And what could have the good commander awake and active at three in the morning?

If the candle was lit, that meant she was more than welcome to go find out. Narvi pushed her hair back from her face as she walked over to her armoire. She got dressed with only the moonlight to guide her hands. Most of her clothes, aside from her armor, had fastenings in the same places, so her actions were guided more by memory than vision anyway. It took about ten minutes altogether to get dressed and make her way through the main hall and rotunda and find herself outside his door.

He opened the door for her when she knocked. The response was so quick that Narvi couldn't help but wonder if he had waited by that door for her.

“I was hoping you'd show,” he greeted with that smirk of his. “Come on in, I want to show you something.”

“You're... energetic,” Narvi observed as she watched his movements. There seemed to be more vitality in his step than usual, a sort of springiness that she rather associated with youths ten years or more Cullen's junior. Maybe it was the fact that, despite being otherwise fully clothed, he hadn't yet put his armor on for the day. The armor pieces and their underpadding added another fifty pounds or so to his overall weight, so not wearing them probably made him feel like he was walking on air.

“Am I?” he wondered absently. “Well, I have a good feeling about today, I suppose. Come on.” Cullen started climbing the ladder up to his bedroom.

Narvi's eyebrows lifted as she watched him climb. She considered them close but this was a first. At least she couldn't complain about the view. “Um, Cullen? What are you doing?”

“Climbing. As you should be. You won't be able to see it properly down there.”

Now she was just curious as to what in the world he meant by 'it', and let it never be said that Narvi Lavellan didn't investigate that which piqued her curiosity.

He was standing in the middle of the floor space, close to the foot of his bed, when Narvi reached the top. There was nothing remarkable to be seen around him. Until he grinned, raised one hand, and pointed up.

“You...? Maker's breath, Cullen, you, you fixed it!” she exclaimed when she saw his ceiling. Sure enough, it had been completely repaired. The places where the wood had rotten were fully replaced, the holes filled in, the whole thing properly braced with crossbeams. “When did this happen?”

His grin toned itself down into his usual half-smile. “I've been working on it little by little. I started it the day you traded my ceiling for your socks.”

Narvi had almost forgotten about that deal. She assumed that he had, too. “I guess I have to start holding up my end of the bargain, huh?” she asked through a laugh. Then, quieter, “where am I supposed to put them all if not on the floor?”

“I'm glad you asked,” Cullen replied brightly. He went over to his dresser and picked up... something... that was standing next to it. Whatever it was, it had a sheet over the top of it, so Narvi had no way of identifying it. With a flourish, Cullen pulled the sheet off. “Ta-daaa,” he intoned. Narvi just stared, dumbstruck, for half a minute.

“It's... a basket?” she finally asked. Her head tilted to the side as she asked.

“A hamper,” Cullen corrected. “It's for keeping your laundry in one place until wash day.” He picked it up and placed it in front of Narvi for her inspection.

Her jaw hung open as she watched him. Had she _ever_ seen him so excited about anything as about this very tall wicker basket? She put one hand on the rim and tilted it. The weave on it was tight, uniform. It was very sturdy and well-made. The Dalish in her couldn't help but admire it from a pragmatic standpoint.

“Where did you get this, anyway?” she asked.

Cullen's hand went to the back of his neck. “Well, I had to go to Redcliffe to get the right lumber anyway, so while I was there...” he trailed off.

“So, what? You just wandered into a hamper store while you were in town?”

“It was a furniture store,” he corrected with a pout. “But the owner's wife made some nice baskets, so I asked her if she would take a special—” Cullen stopped abruptly, like he said too much and just realized it. He began chewing on the inside of his lower lip.

Narvi just stared at him for a full minute. He lasted _maybe_ ten seconds of that minute before he couldn't meet her gaze and looked away, at the floor, at the window, anywhere but at her.

“You, you didn't just see a hamper and think 'oh, she needs that, I should get that.' No, you _commissioned_ a laundry hamper?” she clarified when her voice returned to her.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Well, um, that is, I... yes?”

Her eyes returned to the gift. It was so simple, so practical, so specifically tailored to her that it would sound ridiculous if she mentioned it to someone outside their private loop. It was exactly the sort of gift she would have expected from him; well, it would be if she _had_ ever expected him to give her a gift. She could not honestly say she expected that in the first place.

“Nobody's ever commissioned housewares for me before,” Narvi said quietly. Her throat felt tight. She knew how silly it would sound, but, “that might be the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me.” It was such a quintessentially _Cullen_ thing to do, she realized with a start. Her breath caught in her throat. Did that make him, by default, the sweetest person she knew? Staring at the wrinkle in the corner of his eye, even as he stared at the ground, she was ready to believe he was.

He finally had the courage to look her in the eye again. “So, then you like it?” He sounded exactly like the sparkle of hope in his eyes looked.

“Yeah, I really do,” Narvi answered, her grin broadening every moment. “I love it, actually. Thank you.”

“I, er, you're welcome,” Cullen stammered. A blush began rising through his neck up into his cheeks. “You know, it um, it has this strap on the side. I asked her to put that there, to make it easier to carry when it's full...”

Narvi bit her lip to stop herself from laughing as walked around the hamper until she stood immediately in front of Cullen. He swallowed hard and was about to say something else but felt the air rush from his lungs when one of Narvi's hands moved up across the side of his neck and behind his head, pulled him down to her level even as she stood on tip-toe to kiss him. It wasn't conscious on his part, but he felt his hands settle on her waist and pull her closer, until she was flush against his body. He hadn't given himself leave to hope for this outcome, but now that it was happening he realized how much he wanted it, how badly he needed it. Her lips against his were warm, sweet softness and he never wanted to let that feeling go. Her fingers in his hair sent a tingling from his scalp all the way down to his toes. Surely it would kill him to let her go.

Narvi wasn't sure what had possessed her to kiss him out of the blue like that, and all too quickly she realized what she was doing and her nerve fled her. She broke away with a small, disbelieving gasp and had to turn her face away to prevent him from leaning in and laying claim to her mouth once more. It wasn't that she didn't want to; oh, Creators, how she _wanted_ to, wanted to kiss him everywhere, for hours on end. But what she wanted, and what he wanted, and what either of them were ready for might very well not be the same thing. She had never been very good at asking. Somehow, no matter how many...entanglements... she managed to get herself into, she never got good at _initiating_ them.

“Sorry,”she muttered to his shoulder as her feet returned to normal.

“'Sorry?'” Cullen repeated skeptically, even hurt. “Don't be sorry. That was nice,” he added. _Please,_ he pleaded with her silently, _please don't change your mind now. I can't bear to lose you. Again._

Even if she wanted to disagree with him, there were no grounds on which to do so. Maybe he really did want the same thing she did. Maybe he cared for her the way she did for him. Narvi tried to steel her nerves. She would never know if she didn't take this chance. “Yeah. It _was_ nice. Why did I say sorry?”

Cullen smiled. With a gentle motion he brushed her golden hair back from her face. She closed her eyes and practically purred when his fingertips touched the skin behind her ear. Her own hand, the one behind his head, trailed forward along the line of his jaw and gently scratched against the scruffy stubble on his chin.

That smile of his began to fall and an old gnawing worry overtook him. “This is probably a bad idea,” he warned, as much to himself as to her.

“If you're worried about the gossip, I think it's already too late for that,” she informed him. Weeks ago, Leliana had pulled her aside and told her what the lower ranks of the Inquisition thought when they saw the Inquisitor and Commander so often in each others' company. Even if they never spoke to each other again it would be a year or more before their reputations became fully separated.

Cullen shook his head. “It's not that...” She looked up at him, a combination of curious and confused. “It's... Maker save me. This isn't just us being impulsive, is it?”

“It's a little impulsive,” Narvi admitted. “That doesn't mean I've never thought about it before.” Oh, she had thought about it. Had dreamed about it. Had constructed a thousand little fantasies of them together...and a thousand more where it was all a misunderstanding, where he didn't feel what she felt, and where her making this move ended up costing her a best friend. His hands on her waist seemed to tighten, but his face looked no more reassured.

“And, what you've thought about, is that what you really want? Is it—am I—Maker, how do I _say_ this?” he looked away, closed his eyes in frustration. “There's no nice way to ask this, but I won't be easy until I know: if Solas ever came back—”

“No!” She surprised herself with how forceful she sounded. She licked her lip nervously and took a steadying breath. “No. I don't think he _will_ come back, but even if he did, no. He made his decision. I've made mine. Cullen, please look at me.” He did. Her heart fluttered. “Please don't think that I think of you as a rebound, or a placeholder, or a fling, or anything else like that.

“I love you,” she admitted.

For a moment all he could do was blink and gape. That confession was not at all what he had expected. He wasn't sure what he _had_ expected, but it wasn't that.

Part of him wanted to ask why, or how. How anyone as radiant as she could actually feel that way about someone like him. He had nothing of value to offer her, nothing but himself, and they both knew he was damaged goods. How could he possibly be worthy of her?

“Say _something_ ,” she pleaded when he was silent too long.

Even then he couldn't make the words happen. It was all he could do to stare at her like she was the rarest and loveliest creature in the world, which, as far as he was concerned, was exactly what she was. His breath quickened and his heart raced.

She loved him. She _loved him_. Her hands rested on his arms. Her body stood so close to his that their heat and scents mingled into one. He would give anything in the world to keep her there in the circle of his arms. Fortunately for him, she was content to stay there anyway. Because she loved him. The words echoed in his mind, bouncing around his skull until slowly, painfully slowly, they began to really sink in.

Finally he found his voice, sort of. “I love you, too,” he whispered, just before he leaned in and kissed her again. He felt her hands on either side of his face, gently drawing him in. He was happy to be drawn in, to lean into her and tighten his arms around her body. Narvi's heart felt like it was about to leap out of her chest and right into his. Her legs felt like they would turn to liquid at any moment. Never before in her long career of romantic exploits had she known this particular combination of excitement and triumph and joy and, what was this? Serenity, perhaps? She felt like the eye of a hurricane, at once peaceful and charged with the full energy of a storm.

There were few things either of them could be sure about these days, but if nothing else they could both be sure that this moment was real, and it was right. It was a small victory over the darkness and the chaos and, if their traded kisses were any indication, they were both fully prepared to celebrate it.

 


End file.
